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Benson remembered.
He remembered a time when he would touch the tips of Klein’s baby fingers, small and grabby. Strong.
He did it frequently because Klein was his first sibling, and also because he was a quiet baby. Benson had been afraid that one day, his little brother would go to sleep and never wake again, and Benson would never know until it’s too late. Like their neighbour’s baby James, who was stolen away by fever and fate before the infant even really had the chance to live.
So Benson did it again and again, and each time, Klein would respond, catching his big brother’s thumb within the curl of his own tiny grip with a gurgling grin. Benson also thought it was funny how the baby always looked surprised by this corporeal thing that he kept catching unexpectedly, repeatedly.
For Benson, it was a form of reassurance. For Klein, it was a game that made Benson his favourite.
And so, for a while, it was Benson-and-Klein-against-the-world. It would eventually become Benson-and-Klein-and-Melissa-against-the-world, and Benson would willingly give up his life and future for his siblings, but he would never forget when it was just him and Klein.
It was the start of a sacred life adventure; the budding of a type of love that he never knew until then.
###
Benson remembers.
He remembers as he touches the tips of Klein’s fingers, tender-red and delicate. Cold.
He does it again and again, because Benson thinks this might be a mistake - this devastation that these strangers have brought to him and Melissa. After all, Klein has always run cold, even as a child, when he could still be coaxed into vigorous activities like climbing trees for fun. Or bolting through the streets just to see if he could outrun Benson in a race.
(He couldn’t, actually, but like every doting elder sibling, Benson pretended to be slow and let his baby brother win all the time, so Klein thought he could. It also made Benson warm in a way that he didn’t bother to explain, when Klein smiled his cheeky gremlin grin. Klein soon learnt to do the same with Melissa, except they played the intellectual game instead; Klein would sheepishly pretend not to understand something so his sister can lord it over him.)
But that chill is not this chill.
That chill burnt with a boy’s fire and force and fervour for life.
It was Klein growing cold because he spent too long dipping his fingers into the Tussock River during spring, trying to bait curious fish while Benson scolds him in the background.
It was Klein growing cold because he insisted on jumping into puddles during summer showers, thinking he’d never be sick if the sun is always out to dry him like a piece of shirt on the clothesline.
It was Klein growing cold because he kept escaping his elder brother during mid-winter to go out to catch a snowflake on the tip of his tongue.
This chill is…muted. Mourning. Unmoored. A brother lost, never to be found.
Now Klein is truly cold, warmed in that moment only by the hollowed hearts of his siblings and the equally cold body of his grey-eyed Captain.
###
Benson doesn’t know it yet, but many years later, when he is with wife and child, he will remember.
This time, he will remember touching the tips of Klein’s fingers, except it’s more the tip of a tentacle than fingers now. A shy, darling little tendril.
The wriggly thing will be nervous, skittish in its approach - just as Benson will be uncertain, disbelieving. But his daughter will also be chanting in the background - “Da Pool, Da Pool, Da Mesterwes luler apove the gway pog~” - singing the words the way she sings her lullabies because they all pray to The Fool regularly now.
And then he will smile and sob a little, and remember loving baby Klein - his first serious responsibility in this world.
“It’s Klein. It’s Klein. It’s really Klein, reborn for me to love again.”